


The Firmaments (of Sun)

by SilverBird13



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Brick!Javert you sassy wonder, Javert's an RA, M/M, Porn With Plot, They're Still in France, Valjean the Awkward Bad Boy, and an Astronomy major, and flirting, handjobs, this is fluff and porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBird13/pseuds/SilverBird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet in Astronomy 101, as fucking cliche as that sounds. </p><p>(Well, Javert would never fail to interject, outside of Astronomy 101.)</p><p>Also known as "That Valvert College AU."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Firmaments (of Sun)

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have a college AU (alternate universities, you know), now featuring sexual tension and a title that's an homage to my own school.  
> (Not entirely sure if this counts as a fill for the "Javert the Astronomy major" prompt, but I'm tagging it.

They meet in Astronomy 101, as fucking cliche as that sounds.  
  
(Well, Javert would never fail to interject, _outside_ of Astronomy 101.)

****  
  
“Feeding your tumor I see, 24601.  Really, there are better ways to fit in around here.”  
  
The leather-coated lump being addressed turns, messy blonde hair flopping into his face.  “Christ! Javert, right? Do you have every bloody room number here memorized?  It’s creepy as fuck.”  
  
Javert merely rolls his eyes and tugs at his jacket.  “Reslife requires all RAs to have the residents of their dorm and their room numbers memorized.”  
  
“So call me Jean, like every other normal person on campus.  Really, it’s not difficult.”  
  
The man then proceeds walks a few feet to stub out his cigarette in an ashtray.  How strangely considerate.  
  
****

  
 _A group project, really?  We're 20, for God’s sake_ ,  Javert groans internally as their professor flips to the “Weekly Assignment” slide.   
  
“Okay, so look.  I really don’t care how you divide yourselves up.  Just have the 50 galaxies classified on the website listed by the 20th.  You lose 10 points every day it’s late.  If there’s no questions, I’m out.”  
  
(Really, what is this school even _hiring_ anymore?)  
  
Javert shifts in his seat and collects his backpack as everyone around him begins to do the same.  In the seconds it takes him to pack, he’s learned about Clement’s cheating, Helene’s hickeys, and that there’s going to be a “fucking bomb kegger” in Toulon this weekend.  
  
How could this day get any better?  
  
Javert is just leaving the science building to head to the library, pondering exactly how to pull off the project with no partner when he feels a hand on his shoulder.  
  
 _Ah, irony, my old friend_ , he thinks as he turns around.  
  
“Hey, sorry I was an asshole earlier.  Loans, stress, you know...” Valjean tries.  He shakes his mop of hair before continuing, and Javert is suddenly very conscious of the large, warm hand still clutching at his jacket.  “Anyways, if you’d like to work with me, I’d really like that.”   
  
Javert keeps his gaze firmly on Valjean’s chin as he answers.  “That would be good.  We’re in the same dorm, too, at any rate.”  He shifts a bit, and notes that a partial pack of Valjean’s friends are smoking a few feet away and trying fruitlessly not to stare.  
  
Valjean breaks into a grin.  “Great!  Hey, I’m done for the day, so if you want to start later, I’m down for it.”  He removes his hand, and damn it if Javert flushes.  
  
“Okay, 7pm in the first floor common room.”  Javert states, regaining his control.  
  
“Sounds good,” Valjean calls out as he leaves to join his friends.  
  
 _Too good_ , Javert knows.  
  
****  
  
20 minutes after their little “study session” in the common room, and Javert has found himself with his jeans unzipped and his browser open to Jean Valjean’s Facebook page, cringing with every pleasurable stroke of his hand.  
  
 _“Hey, I’ll friend you on Facebook!  And what’s your cell number again?”_  
  
What had at first seemed like a rather bland, “God-loves-us-all” page for the known rebel had, with a little scrolling through the “likes” section, quickly rammed itself full of rainbows, specialty bars, and downright pornographic images.  
  
Really, did Valjean _need_ to be shirtless so much at the beach?  
  
Had Javert been struck down then and there, hands wrapped around his cock and eyes glued to the screen, he would have died happily and with no small sense of relief.  
  
****  
  
Weekends were the bane of Javert’s existence.  
  
“Big booty bitches gonna POP!” some idiot wails as Javert proceeds to reach for his phone.  Thank God he’s got Campus Security on speed dial.  
  
“Hello, officer?  Yes, I’d like to report a party in Toulon, in the sunroom.  Yes, I can hold,” he says, barely managing not to groan in frustration.  Why the fuck would they give a sophomore RA a floor in the party dorm to oversee?  
  
A knock on his door jolts him out of his thoughts.  Still clutching his phone, he storms over to answer it.  Fucking assholes probably needed him to call the hospital again.  Speaking of speed dial...  
  
The sheepish, slightly red-eyed face that greets him isn’t half as unwelcome a sight.  
  
“Hey, uh, Javert?  Do you want, like, to maybe come down and have a beer or something?  Or a smoke?” Valjean asks as he pulls off his jacket, still awkwardly standing in the doorway.  He’s been sweating, and his rather tight black t-shirt leaves little to the imagination.  
  
Javert smirks in response. The realization that they are technically in his territory gives him confidence. “What, Valjean?  Didn’t see me enough yesterday or something?” he snorts.  
  
Valjean shifts a bit and looks down, while Javert blatantly stares at the muscles outlined by his shirt again.  “Maybe, but look, I kind of wish you’d call me Jean, you know?” he mumbles, his spark of drug-induced bravery apparently disappearing.  
  
Javert rolls his eyes, but reaches for his own jacket as Valjean tries to hide his smile.  
  
His phone is tossed on his bed, duty momentarily put aside.  
  
****  
  
The party is every bit as horrific as he had expected.  
  
“FUCK, TURN IT THE FUCK UP, BITCH!”  a shirtless man wearing only a trucker hat and sagging gym shorts screams at the hapless fool attempting to fix the speakers connected to his laptop.  
  
Valjean claps him on the shoulder.  “Makes you feel alive, doesn’t it?”  
  
“That’s one way to put it.”  
  
They make their way around the cramped sunroom, Valjean stopping to say a quick hello to various friends and to introduce Javert to them.  He merely nods when appropriate, confused as to why these people, whose parties he’s called in dozens of times, seem to be indifferent to his presence next to Valjean.  
  
They stop in an area not crammed to the hilt with bodies, and Valjean reaches behind him, shoving a beer towards Javert.  “Want one?”  
  
Javert shakes his head, pulling at his jacket.  _If he got caught..._  
  
Valjean shrugs, sets the can down.  “Whatever.  We’re dancing, then,” he says with a grin.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
****

  
If possible, dancing with Jean Valjean is even worse than the party surrounding them.  
  
“This okay?” he shouts in Javert’s ear, barely avoiding a collision with his dance partner’s head.  
  
“Yeah,” Javert shouts back over the music, which has switched to a track he remembers from some movie.   
  
        _“Down in Mexicali_  
  
 _There's a crazy little place that I know”_  
  
 Valjean is clearly out of his element as he rocks back-and-forth with Javert in a mimicry of dancing.  Both have abandoned their jackets in a corner, the room far too warm for any excess clothing.  They’re pressed nearly chest-to-chest, hands tentatively exploring one another’s backs and arms.   
  
Both of them are determinedly avoiding the hardness between them.  
   
           _“He wears a red bandana_  
  
 _Plays a cool piana_  
  
 _In a honky tonk, down in Mexico”_  
  
They continue to move together, Valjean pressing his face into Javert’s shoulder as he awkwardly grinds his hips, trying to retain his dignity.  
  
The music begins to speed up, and Javert’s decided he's had enough.  
  
            _"All of a sudden in walks a chick_  
  
 _In Mexico..._  
  
 _Joe starts playin on a latin kick_  
  
 _In Mexico..."_  
  
He pushes his cock harder against Valjean, and feels the other man let out a low moan.  Javert lowers his head, groans into Valjean’s ear.  
  
“Come on,” he says, and feels Valjean push back against him with a shudder.  
  
            _"I didn't know just what to expect_  
  
 _In Mexico..._  
  
 _She threw her arms around my neck_  
  
 _In Mexico..."_  
  
Javert feels himself harden even more with the added pressure, and he knows he won’t last long if they continue.  He pulls Valjean from him, holding him by the collar of his shirt.  
  
He kisses Valjean then, hard and fast and with no talent, he’s sure, but Valjean takes the cue and begins to drag them them through the crowd.  
  
 _"So if you're south of the border_

  
 _I mean down in Mexico_

  
_And you wanna get straight_

  
_Man, don't hesitate..."_  
  
If any of Valjean’s friends are laughing and cheering and setting things on fire behind them, he’s certain he doesn’t notice.  
  
****  
  
“God,”  Javert whimpers, as, safely back in his room with the door locked, he and Valjean begin to undress one another.   
  
“Damn,” Valjean finishes with a smile, running his hands around Javert’s chest and toying with the dark hair that covers his skin.  
  
Javert begins to pull on the buttons of Valjean’s jeans, running one hand against the bulge in the front of them as Valjean hums under his touch.  He stops to kiss the other man as the garments fall to the floor and they reach Javert’s bed.  
  
“Please,”  Valjean whispers as Javert wraps a hand around his bare cock, trailing another up towards Valjean’s erect nipples, which he leans in to nip at with no small amusement at how the other man gasps beneath him and throws his head back in pleasure.  
  
Javert pulls off his own pants and boxers, shaking them off his legs and onto the floor, one hand still stroking the warm thickness of Valjean’s cock.   
  
“Well, what?” Javert asks as he watches Valjean widen his eyes and wet his lips at his bare form.  
  
“ _Christ_ , I-I’ve wanted it for _forever_ now...” he moans as Javert speeds his stroking, slicking the length with the precome Valjean is emitting in excess.  “...that’s why-why I was pissed when-oh God, _don’t stop_!” he nearly wails, his fingers digging into Javert’s shoulders enough to hurt, and Javert can tell by the way he’s squirming that he won’t last long.  
  
“J-Javert!” Valjean practically shouts as he comes, white fluid pooling on his belly as the other man looks on, observing how his expression moves from agonizing pleasure to the sated, calm look of a saint.  Thankfully, however, Valjean doesn’t revel too long, grasping Javert’s cock with a firm hand nearly the minute after he finishes spilling, thumbing the tip of it roughly as he tilts up to bite and kiss at Javert’s slim chest.  The gentle pain alone is nearly enough to bring him to the edge.  
  
Just as Javert is _so close_ to the brink, however, he feels Valjean pull away his hand and mouth.  Javert grunts.   
  
“Say it,” Valjean commands, studying the man above him.   
  
“Christ, say what?  If it’s _mama_ I’ll punch you, I swear it,”  he growls, eyes no longer glossed with arousal.  His erection, however, remains as aching as ever as Valjean answers.  
  
“‘Jean’,” he states firmly.  “Please, I want to be Jean to you.”  
  
Javert smirks, though he feels his chest tighten with more than desire.  “Jean,” he moans foolishly, “Oh Jean, _please_!”  
  
Pacified if not completely appeased, Valjean renews his ministrations, rubbing and sucking as Javert feels his climax build.  
  
“Jean!” he cries, softly this time, as he finishes on the other man’s belly, their seed mixing in a way Javert really should find more repulsive.  Valjean, however, only smiles and strokes his back as he settles back down from his climax. 

Javert watches with dull eyes as Valjean gets up, takes several tissues from the nearby desk, and begins to clean himself off.  He can already feel regret settling in as the other man throws out the tissues and begins to rifle through the pile of clothing they’ve made.   
  
He is genuinely surprised when Valjean turns back to him, smile still plastered to his face.  
  
“Sorry, just had to turn off my phone.  My sister likes to check up on me, but I need my sleep, you know?”  he says, returning to sit on the bed.   
  
“So, are you the big spoon or the little one?”  
  
Javert merely stares at him. _Dear God, this could very well be worse than just having Valjean leave._  
  
“Big, for God’s sake,” he finally chokes out.  Damn if he won’t at least keep _some_ of his dignity tonight.  
  
Valjean drops his head into Javert’s shoulder again and waits as he gets under the covers, settling into a familiar position against the wall.  Javert pulls Valjean close to him in the narrow bed, shifting to try and find a comfortable position.   
  
Oddly enough, the feeling of holding the shorter man is comforting, and Javert tentatively tucks his face against Valjean’s broad back, thinking pleasantly of nothing.  
   
  



End file.
